The Black Arrow
by ziggy3
Summary: Thranduil enters the dragon's lair; it is not gold that he seeks, but something much more precious.
1. Chapter 1

**The Black Arrow **

Arrow!" said the bowman. "Black arrow! I have saved you to the last. You have never failed me and always I have recovered you. I had you from my father and he from of old. If ever you came from the forges of the true King under the Mountain, go now and speed well!"

It was brought from the Lonely Mountain, from the forges of the true King under the Mountain. But it was taken from Smaug's horde by someone quite unexpected.

The story of how the Black Arrow came to be in Bard's hands, and how Legolas got his tattoo.

Disclaimer: No money. Not profit. Just a bit of fun.

**Chapter 1: Dragon-fire**

He smelt the burning before the messages reached him, had seen the strange, spike-winged shape flying high above the forest canopy, moving fast, faster than a hunting eagle, bigger, higher up... No bird. Headed for Erebor and its wealth, riches...its river of gold. He knew.

'A Dragon is come,' he had said and Galion's already pale face had paled further.

There was no time to warn the dwarves, or Esgaroth or Dale. The raft-elves returned ashen-faced with tales of the Dragon soaring through the air; a spark of fire getting ever closer and the people along the Long Lake had stopped and stared in wonder at first...And then the Lake had rippled red like fire beneath the beating of the dragon's immense wings* The Dragon had circled for a while above the mountain, and then suddenly stooped, plummeted to the earth and the trees had caught fire in the rush of flames from his jaws, and the wind from his passing set the bells ringing in Dale. The raft Elves could not hear or see all that happened then on the Mountain, but they could see great gouts of fire flaring up into the sky, and every now and again, the Dragon would leap into the air and roar down the mountainside, the trees like beacons of its passing. In Dale and Esgaroth, folk ran screaming, panicked as the River Running truly turned to gold, and red for it reflected the flames that tore through Erebor and turned the dwarven realm to ash.

The Woodelves listened in horror and looked at each other in fear. Erebor, Dale and Esgaroth. They were too close. The Elves retreated to their stone stronghold, hoping the wealth of the Dwarves would sate the dragon's appetite.

But Thranduil knew it would not be enough.

Smaug. Golden. Old...Greedy.

The Woodelves huddled in their stone halls and wondered how long it would be. They looked anxiously around at the caverns, dwarf-delved but elven, light and airy, lit by great globes of light like starlight. It was like Cuiviénen. Not like a cave, an enchanted place hidden and guarded by the King's magic. And they wondered how long it would hold out before the Dragon.

The Forest was already restless; malice as great as the Dragon crept upon the edges of the Woodland Realm. Shadow crept through the forest, lingered in dells and the dark places. Slowly the trees turned towards the darkness and the forest became a place of evil. The Elves no longer dwelt in the South. Spiders crept into the Wood, the spawn of Ungoliant, and Wargs. Worse things too, and screams were heard in the night that were made by no living beast or man. Though Thranduil had sent more messages than he could count to the White Council telling them of his suspicions, his fears. The White Council, he almost sneered. Useless. And Galion was less polite. The only one Thranduil had any time for was Mithrandir who visited from time to time and cast some useful spells and listened at least sympathetically to Thranduil's fears.

An alliance with a Dragon against the Elves might seem a good thing to the Necromancer.

0o0o

Thranduil watched the sky, the Mountain. There was sometimes smoke from the Mountain and thrice now, Smaug had been seen in the sky, turning the ridges of pines to fire but he had not come West. He had not come to the Wood. The Dragon had settled on his bed of stolen gold, and lost jewels. But the Elvenking did not forget his dangerous neighbour and he wondered often what was in Smaug's mind; he was sated for now it seemed. But it would not be forever.

Though it went against his nature, the King knew in his bones and blood it was not he who would slay this Dragon. He had dreamed often...

_A vast, red-gold Dragon, fast asleep and dreaming of gold; a thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, a wisps of smoke; but his fires were lower in slumber.* Beneath him gold. Coins spilled out from under his huge coiled tail...goblets and chalices, necklaces draped over the chalices, strung like stars. A crown hung jauntily on a golden throne as if someone had just taken it off in celebration, left it for a moment to pursue a lover, a mithril gauntlet cast carelessly aside... Behind him, stretched the cavernous halls, tiers and tiers of arches and terraces lit with a fiery glow. A long forgotten city, like Gondolin or Nargothrond. And rows and rows of coats of mail gleamed, and helms, spears, fine swords and a scattering of gems and jewels gleamed in the red-gold light. But over everything lay a fine layer of ash. _

_And carelessly, on the floor of the cavernous hall, as if forgotten, lay a black arrow. He reached out and his fingers brushed against it._

When he awoke, his fingers still tingled and there was a light stink of sulphur in the air.

0o0o0

In Thranduil's forest, the leaves had turned golden and red fifteen times since the Dragon had devastated Erebor. And he was reminded again of the Dragon. It seemed he was not the only one for he received news that Mithrandir had been seen in the Wood, but coming up from the South. It was Legolas' patrol who had sent the news and his father's heart hoped that his youngest would escort Mithrandir, but the King knew he would not.

He waited.

It was a crisp bright morning, when Mithrandir strode up the forest road, chatting merrily to his escort, Anglach, Legolas' friend. The sunlight pierced the trees here, for it was almost winter, and dappled the soft forest floor. As they approached the stronghold, or the Palace as the Woodelves like do call it for it was fair-wrought if not quite Menegroth, other Elves came out to shout a greeting and to sing a welcome, for Mithrandir was ever a friend to the Wood. Anglach fairly danced beside him, all lightness and energy. The maidens smiled and threw their hair back as he passed for he was handsome and a warrior in the South.

Thranduil waited to greet Mithrandir, standing on the floor before the dais and carved throne, for he did not stand on ceremony with such old friends. He smiled at Anglach, fresh-faced and bright, who carried Mithrandir's pack though the Wizard was strong and hale, Thranduil knew.

'I have brought fireworks!' Anglach called and waved without any sense of deference to his King and Thranduil smiled indulgently but he heard the tut of Galion and the muttered complaint.

'Hush old friend,' he murmured softly back over his shoulder. 'It is Anglach whom you have dandled on your knee and made wooden dragons for more times than I could count.'

'Humph. And he pissed on me more times than I could count too. That rascal needs to learn some manners.' But Thranduil did not reply; it was Galion's way of showing affection to scold and give cake as he scolded. 'Puked up on me too,' Galion hissed in his ear and then turned and said gruffly to the grinning Anglach, who had heard every word, 'Come then rascal child. I suppose you will expect feeding.'

"I swear not to puke or piss on you, Galion,' Anglach said cheekily and flashed a quick, bright grim at Thranduil that was so like Legolas that it took his breath for a moment. 'I have some nice black squirrel to help you flavour the lembas. It's from Legolas. He says it will improve the flavour... Ow!'

0o0o

Later, much later, Thranduil stood with Mithrandir on the balcony of his study, a wide platform with no rail that looked out over the forest, and above them the stars were a dust of jewels in the night sky.

'Laersul and Legolas are in the South of the Wood?' Mithrandir asked, as if casually, but Thranduil knew nothing was ever casual with the Wizard. So he merely inclined his head and kept his eyes on the stars. 'There is much trouble in the South?'

'Yes.' Thranduil said and tried not to answer brusquely for Mithrandir was his only voice on the White Council and it suited him to keep Mithrandir close. He sighed. 'It is hard to send my sons into such danger,' he answered more conciliatory. 'Thalos is here though, you have seen him?'

'I have. You are right to be proud of him.' Mithrandir smiled and looked at Thranduil.

'Yes, he has his mother's ways.' Thranduil looked down into the depths of his wine and tried not to be too obviously proud for his heart felt it would burst sometimes when he thought of his bright, handsome sons. 'I had thought to send him as emissary to Erebor before the Dragon. Laketown is hardly a challenge to his skill.' Thranduil gave the Wizard the opening that both of them waited for, for Mithrandir had hinted as much earlier during the rather more lavish dinner than was usual in the King's own rooms. But Galion had always liked Mithrandir too and had been thrown into the kitchens into a frenzy of baking and cooking.

Mithrandir turned away from the starlit night and settled deeply into one of the armchairs that flanked the fire. The fire was lit and crackled and burned, the glowing red embers settled and deep red wine glowed in goblets of soft burnished pewter.

'I met Thrór in the Blue Mountains you know.' Mithrandir flicked a deep gaze at Thranduil. 'He was smithing. Making tools for Men.'

'I believe that dwarvish-made tools are of the highest quality,' Thranduil replied blandly and raised his goblet to his full lips. He looked at Mithrandir from beneath his lashes. It was no shame to work, he thought. He and his sons worked alongside everyone else all through the year, and all of his sons fought beside the warriors of the Wood. But he thought Thrór would take it hard. He shrugged. 'It will be hard for him, but harder still for his son,' he observed, remembering Thror's son, Thrain, who was prouder still and was stiff-necked indeed.

'I have something that I need you to keep for me...In whatever way you think is best.' The Wizard drew a pouch from somewhere inside his robes and handed it to Thranduil. 'Do not ask how I came by it. That is another story and I may tell it to you sometime. But for now at least, it is in your care. You know what it is.'

He did indeed know it, and was astonished and left much richer. When Mithrandir left three days later, he hid the treasure deep and spoke of it to no one...Until now, he had barely looked at it.

0o0o

Of course he heard the news of the death of the last King-under-the-Mountain at the hands of the Orcs. He did not grieve for he had no love for Dwarves. But the dreams began again...

... _The Mountain gilded and the river ran gold...Upon the heights, the trees burned, and the sky was aflame...A blast of red lightning shot through the night and there was the sound of great reptilian wings whumping the air..._

When he awoke he looked for the Black Arrow he had clutched in his hand, but it was not there of course. Years later, he heard that Thror's death had been avenged and he wondered if the sons of Thror dreamed of gold, and revenge. Or if the Dragon knew what was in their minds... He sat on his talan beneath the stars and drank rich wine and wondered if Smaug thought the Elves might succour the heirs of Thror.

Thranduil searched the eastern skies every night for dragon-fire. Every night he drank, thinking of how to shore up his stronghold against the Shadow, against the Dragon should he come. Every night, he dreamed.

_ ...He walked through vast, empty hall and gazed upwards to the tiers and tiers of arches and terraces lit with a fiery glow. A long forgotten city, like Gondolin or Nargothrond. And rows and rows of coats of mail gleamed, and helms, spears, fine swords and a scattering of gems and jewels gleamed in the red-gold light. But over everything lay a fine layer of ash. _

_Nestling against his heart, was a treasure richer than all the gold under the Mountain...It left the hoard incomplete..._

Mithrandir had said, keep it for him... in whatever way Thranduil thought best. He knew then what he had to do; the bargain he had to strike.

Looking down at his hand, Thranduil clenched his fingers slowly, hooked them so they were like talons. He thought how like scales was skin, and how like talons his long, elegant fingers more used to sword now than harp, for the Forest was beset. And no help to come, he thought bitterly. For his fingers were not talons, his skin not scales but easily pierced. No, he was not invincible. He had no weapon against Smaug that equalled the Dragon's hide and claws and fire. He only had Mithrandir's gift.

Carefully, he removed the old gold rings set with the emeralds that he preferred, and the fiery ruby that was his from his father, and slipped them into a wooden box before he left, lay them beside a necklace and lightly let his fingers caress the delicate chain as if it were the neck of she who had owned it. He held his hands before him, naked, and thought he would have to rely on his wits.

0o0o

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold..._

_To dungeons deep and caverns old.._

_We must away 'ere break of day.._

_To seek the pale enchanted gold..._

It was not gold that Thranduil sought, but something much more precious.

When he set off, it was in secret and with only his old friend, Galion, with his sharp green eyes to watch his back, to bear the news of his fall. They would have tried to stop him, had they known, his gallant sons, his trusted friends. His impossible youngest.

Their light forest raft skipped easily over the rapids and pools of the Forest River and down to Esgaroth. From there they passed through ruined Dale and its charred, empty towers and the blackened skeletons of the houses. They saw the sad grey ghosts of Men lingering on the riverbank. Thranduil sketched a blessing over them and they faded in the early morning light.

They did not linger and he made Galion stay at the edge of The Desolation of Smaug, for the King would not risk any of his folk. He went on alone.

Desolation indeed, Thranduil thought. It was a bleak, forsaken place. Grey rocks, scree slopes, towering grey granite cliffs and the once paved road was broken, smashed by Smaug's huge talons, his volcanic heat. More than smashed, thought Thranduil, looking down; the stone had melted and the once pristine marble that Dwarves had used to richly pave their road, had the look of lava, molten though it had long since cooled...but beneath it all, he felt heat...fire...a smoulder of flame that merely slept for a while.

There were no trees. The pines that had cloaked the shoulders of the mountain had burned and perished like everything else and there were only charred and blackened stumps to mark the avenue that had shaded the Dwarves as they traded and travelled.

He climbed upwards, through the Desolation of Smaug and his lungs filled with the stink of sulphur and the hot metallic tang of Dragon. Under his feet the scree slipped and slid, and rocks bounced down the slopes far below. Ahead of him the river still streamed from the cavernous opening in a great cliff wall between the arms of the Mountain. But as well as the white water of the river there came steam and a dark smoke, and every now and again, a black crow flapped above. The only sound was the stony water and the harsh croak of the crow.*

Thranduil looked up and watched the crow for a moment. It regarded his with its beady eye but said nothing and Thranduil began to climb again.

Ahead of him now, there were glints and twists of metal, scattered between the rocks and scrub grass grew long. There was treasure to be had, he realised, if one was brutish enough, and he bent over one to discern what it was, and recoiled in horror. Long wiry hair was stuck to the metal and he realised this had been dwarvish armour and mail, and it had melted and the occupant seared, burned, incinerated...What looked like thin black twigs clung to a twist of metal, and he realised it was a small hand, a child perhaps. Its fragile little bones lay twisted as if it had curled up on itself. He gently moved the small skeleton closer to the melted armour, he could not really say why for it would not comfort any who perished on that dreadful day and it was years now since the Mountain rang with dwarven hammer or the deep chanting of their songs. Thranduil, who had seem much over his long, long years in the Forest, on the edges of Mordor, in Dagorlad and before, found himself moved with pity. He bowed his head for a moment over these pathetic bones and hoped it would not befall his own people.

Above him, an eagle cried. Then a second eagle shrieked, high, high above and he looked up into the sky. The eagles wheeled and looped about each other, high on the sun-warmed thermals, but here in the vale before the Mountain, it was shadowed and cold.

Still watched by the crow, he picked his way over the broken stone and melted metal and listened. In the stones of the Mountain it seemed to him, were locked the cries of panic and despair. He heard the echo of the roar of the Dragon and the terrible fire that erupted from its gaping maw, the screams of Dwarves as metal melted onto their skin, caught light in their flesh, boiled their blood and melted their bones.

Ahead of him, the mouth of Erebor opened. A mouth indeed, he thought, and for a moment, his heart faltered. But his people were not safe and what good was a King who cowered and waited for the Enemy to come to him? It was not the way of the House of Oropher. His lips thinned wryly. Perhaps he should have told Laersul before he left, prepared him to be King as Thranduil himself had not been...

He sighed as he trudged up the slope; Laersul would have forbidden it and Thalos would have persuaded him that _he_ should go instead, he thought. And Legolas would have pleaded with him to go as well, like it was some merry trip. The thought if his sons made him proud and his heart surged with love.

No matter, there was no going back now.

He strode through the gaping mouth of the cave like the King he was, merely visiting another King. He stepped from the grey daylight into the strange gloom of the Halls of Erebor.

The air was warmer than he expected, the smell of sulphur and metal stronger. A low rumbling throbbed through the air, like a huge cat purring somewhere deep in the heart of the Mountain. He shook himself. No cat this, except it might like to play a little first, and was that not what he was hoping?

He glanced behind him once, at the great iron doors that were buckled and twisted. They looked smooth, polished clean, but it was heat that had melted the crown of Durin from the doors. Thranduil did not steal silently through the great halls. He strode at first. He had not even a knife in his hand and still he did not pause,even to wonder. No. In his dream he had nothing but his wits. That had made Galion laugh long and loudly until he realised what Thranduil intended.

Beneath his feet something cracked, a thin shell of something and he glanced down; rounded domes gleamed slightly like ivory in the red-gold glow that came from deep within the Mountain... He stepped cautiously over the strange domes until his feet brushed one and it toppled sideways...empty sockets and hard white teeth. Skulls. They were all skulls... and bones amid the twisted metal. This must have been where the Dragon trapped those trying to escape the Mountain, and simply blasted them like a furnace. He held onto his heart and breathed slowly. And listened then, titled his head to one side and half closed his eyes...There was the panic, the fear. Heat beyond any furnace or forge and their screams were trapped in the walls of great cavern. It was a terrible death.

He cast his gaze slowly about the cavernous and empty darkness and remembered Erebor as it had been. Before the Dragon. He stood in now what had been the greatest of Erebor's halls. Letting his hand drift over the marble surfaces of the high, fluted pillars, he stepped carefully through the grave of the Dwarves. Once these pillars had been carved about with wonderful abstracts and runes, alchemical symbols and metallurgical symbols, prayers to Aulë he was told, but now the surfaces were smooth for the stone had melted and run like lava so the pillars looked more like half burned candles with the wax cooled on their great trunks. He remembered that there had been gemstones set in the cornices, and great globes of fire hanging mid-air it seemed, to light the darkness. Once, silver and mithril gilded the roof so the light that came down the great chutes cut into the mountain, flashed and gleamed, and reflected a thousand times. Great brass sconces had borne colossal flaring torches that caught the gold and silver and mithril that cut through the stone, patterned the marble floors. Mithril had laced the great doors, chased through gold and set with jewels. The great halls of the Dwarves had been marvels of the Age...Now, only bones and dust.

He had thought, when he set off, that he would have to search for the Dragon and guessed it would have gathered all the treasure to itself, heaping it into one great hoard upon which it slept. For now at least. But he did not need to guess. The presence of the Dragon was everywhere, the suffocating warmth, the red glow like some demonic furnace, and the rumble like distant thunder...but there was too, a sort of glamour, a lure that pulled him inexorably onwards now.

Deeper he went, further. The air became warm, then hot, then sultry and filled with the sulfurous stink of Dragon. Slowly he edged his way down. He knew he would not be able to steal anything from Smaug but he was not here as a thief, or even dragon-slayer.

He thought perhaps instead he should announce himself.

As it happened, he did not need to.

0o0o0

denotes specific details from The Hobbit. The gold cup for example, is the one that Bilbo steals.


	2. Chapter 2 Smaug

This was written before DoS came out and the wonderful portrayal of Smaug. Even so, hope you like it and please review if you do.

Thank you to Pilvi, Certh, freddie23, Melusine, alanic who took the time to tell me they liked this. You are the reason I have pated this second chapter, Thank you.

**Chapter 2: Smaug**

The stench of sulphur was overpowering, like marsh gas or rotten eggs. A low rumble that Thranduil thought at first came from the depths of the Mountain, and the heat made him glad that he had not worn mail or armour, for what good it would have done him? Instead he was dressed in the green hunting tunic and leather breeches of the Woodelves. But his hair was burnished gold like coins and his slate-green eyes intense and focused, like a hawk. Thranduil was always the Elvenking. And he would not cower unless it served his people.

So he strode cofidently along the high hall, glancing at the carved and sculpted walls as he passed with a flicker of sorrow for the Dwarves, but they had not been so merciful in Doriath, he reminded himself, and steeled his heart. He passed through wide, high passages and as back in the shadows, were gilded and silvered coats of mail standing empty, waiting for long dead dwarvish warriors. Tall spears lined up like a ghostly army stood somewhere in the shadows, their shafts inlaid with gold.

The rumbling had stopped but Thranduil did not. Boldly he stepped into the great Hall of Thráin. And he had to stop then.

Heat pressed against him like he stood in a furnace, a hot wind pulled his long hair back from his face and he narrowed his slate-green eyes against it. The light reflecting from the piled up gold was dazzling at first. Gems and jewels and silver washed red in the fiery light. Helms and axes, swords and spears, and great wooden chests were flung open and spilling over with jewels and necklaces of pearl and sapphire. It was said by others that the Elvenking lusted after treasure, after gold, and he liked emeralds best. It was true he liked emeralds best. But this dragon-gold, he wanted none of it. He wanted something else entirely and he thought of the heavy jewel given him by Mithrandir to use as he thought best. It nestled against his breast.

No, it was not dragon-gold or dwarf-treasure that made Thranduil stop.

It was as his dream.

Here at last, was Smaug.

The huge red-gold Dragon lay coiled upon a high bed of gold and gems. His tail stretched long, far down into the shadowed halls and out of sight. It twitched slightly somewhere in the shadows and there was the sound of shifting coins, metal, treasure beyond dreams. About Smaug's claw was tangled a long string of emeralds, deepest green like the forest. Smaug breathed. Thin wisps of smoke blew out of his nostrils for his fires were low and sleepy. But he knew the smell of Elf, the touch of Elf...the taste of Elf flesh. He had come from the North, but no mere Worm of the Northern wastes, this. No, this was Smaug Uruloki, a fire -drake.

Thranduil dared not breathe for the slightest stir might awaken the slumbering Dragon.

But had he not come for a reason? So he steeled himself and stood tall and straight, like an arrow.

And Smaug cracked open an eye of molten fire, gold and flame, hunger.

A great golden cup rolled from under the dragon when he shifted, two-handed, hammered and carven with birds and flowers whose eyes and petals were of mithril*.

'Well..' The voice of Smaug rolled through the great hall, was rich and deep. Golden. It resonated in Thranduil's breast. 'Thranduil Oropherion. It's about time.'

Thranduil almost, almost looked the Dragon in the eye, so taken aback was he. But he remembered in time, his father, Oropher, glorious and golden as Smaug himself, telling him; _Never look in the eye of the dragon. It will cast a glamour upon you, the glamour of gold and its horde and lead you into foolishness._ He bowed low, and thus avoided its gaze.

'Forgive my tardiness then, my lord. I had heard the tales,' Thranduil went for the obvious, 'but I had not imagined for a moment, the truth of your magnificence.' For Smaug was, indeed, magnificent. Glorious. And terrifying.

'One lord to another then it seems. I have heard of you also, King of the Wood.' It was, thought Thranduil, a beautiful and powerful voice.

'As brothers then, as Kings of our lands, my lord,' Thranduil said and he gestured to a golden throne nearby as if asking for permission to sit.

Smoke whuffed from the Dragon's flared nostrils, not flames for his fires were low and banked, and Thranduil took it as acceptance. He did not at first turn his back on the Dragon and then was amused at himself; what could he do if Smaug merely stretched out a colossal paw and pinned him whilst his back was turned? Nothing. He was unarmed and Galion was miles away.

So he deliberately turned his back, heart pounding, and took the two steps to the throne. For all the Dragon had to do was to breathe and he would be incinerated. There was a smear of old blood on the throne. He did not think about it.

He sat and inclined his head slightly, so his long hair sifted and slid over his shoulder. For a moment, Smaug was distracted by the silk of gold, and then the Dragon's eye settled back upon him and Thranduil fixed his own gaze at the point between the molten eyes. The nictitating membrane came up over the Dragon's eye briefly and in that moment, Thranduil realised that he had been as distracted by Smaug as the Dragon had been by him. He clenched his fist and sharpened his focus. As if realising the same, the Dragon shifted slightly forwards and piles and piles of gold coins poured and slipped down, showered onto the rich heavy tapestries and silks scattered on the ground. Thranduil heard the heavy chains of gold fall but he did not look away, schooled his face to a mask of inscrutability. A wisp of thin smoke came from Smaug's nostrils.

'And how goes it in the...Wood,' Smaug's rich voice was urbane oddly and Thranduil was strangely reminded for a moment of Elrond, but for the intonation in the word _wood, _ and the suggestion of its inflammability.

'We survive,' Thranduil said coolly.

'It would be interesting to return the courtesy of your visit,' said Smaug and there was a glint of amusement, a sharpness of intellect.

Thranduil smiled thinly. 'I fear your magnificence would not be given its due regard,' he countered and this time Smaug laughed, a deep laugh that began in his belly and rumbled outwards like distant thunder.

The Dragon moved slightly, merely extended a huge forearm and gold shifted and slid and poured from the great treasure heap. 'It is long since I spoke with your kind,' Smaug said and his voice was like the molten heart of the Mountain. It felt somehow right that he was here. 'I have missed that. Mind you, the last Elf I spoke to was merely to warn him to run.'

If it amuses the Dragon, thought Thranduil, as politely in his mind as in his voice, then who was he to complain? For he had been the one to seek Smaug out and not the other way.

The Dragon licked a tooth and gave Thranduil a chance to see the hot red mouth, the ivory teeth like a mûmak's tusk.

'What was he called...?' The Dragon swiveled his head round slightly to catch Thranduil in the glint of his golden eye. 'Barafin I think. Was he not one of yours? He must have strayed into Dale. Usually Men all taste the same, but there is something different about Elf-flesh. It has a more piquant flavour.'

Thranduil did not move, not a finger, not a flicker of his eye. Ice to meet with Fire. Water quenches fire. _Baraphion, _whose child had wailed, sobbed inconsolably that his ada had not come home and Merdiel, his sweet wife, had stood at the edge of the Wood and gazed and gazed and would not eat or rest... They had not found him. Of course. But until now, no one had known his fate. And what would he tell Merdiel now?

'But I am not hungry yet.' Smaug's eye roamed briefly over the hoard, the deep gold, the piles of treasure that Thranduil studiously avoided looking at in case the glamour of the dragon-hoard worked its way into his heart and fixed him there. 'However I have missed good conversation.' Smaug spoke as if he were weighing up the advantages of eating Thranduil.

Thranduil let a long breathe go and with it tension and fear. He had faced worse. He had faced the Nazgûl which had no such dilemma, who only sought his death in the worst way imaginable.

'I do hope you will visit me again.'

Thranduil inclined his head slightly.

'But I think you are here for something. A king does not visit a king merely to pass the time of day.' Smaug's tail twitched slightly and gold poured and slid from the great heaps and scattered at Thranduil's feet. 'Am I to fear another Elvish warrior who wishes to make his name? Will you send a hero to seek my death that his name is forever sung in your halls?'

'Surely that is a Mannish deed, O Smaug the Magnificent?' Thranduil said. 'When have the Elves of the Woods and Dragons ever been enemies? When have my people ever sought your death?' He looked hard at the Dragon's gold scales, seeking a weakness. He could see none. 'Yet Kings treat with Kings.'

'And you would treat with me?'

'I would.'

'What would'st thou have, King of the Wood?'

'I would have your word that you will not seek the destruction of my folk.'

'Ah. Now we come to it. Like your father you are, Oropherion. He was ever to the point.' Smaug's laugh, if it could be described, was a deep rumble that made Thranduil want to look about to see if the Mountain was coming down. But he did not, he held his gaze steady.

One great claw slowly stretched, flexed and stayed spread, the great talons gleamed like scimitars amongst the shifting piles of gold coins. A necklace was caught between Smaug's talons, a lovely delicate string of mithril and emeralds. Thranduil though, barely noticed it for the power and elegance of the Dragon's claw.

The claws had the colour and rich iridescence of pearls, and the scales of the dragon, richer than the gold on which he lay. Within each scale were swirls and patterns that seemed to echo the dragon's shape, discernible one moment and gone the next, lost in the gleam of bronze and gold, copper. In the claw alone, Thranduil found the Song, rare in its power and resonance and suddenly his heart lurched. He found that he was moved, not only by the power and richness of the Dragon, but by a deep compassion.

'You are one of the last,' Thranduil said slowly. 'Your magnificence is beyond anything I have ever seen.' He found himself wishing he had seen the battles where Dragons had come roaring over the plains, fire scorching the Earth and their great wings whumping down on the wind... He did not think he could have stood his ground as did those First Age warriors - he thought he would have run.

Smaug half-closed his eyes, as if he read Thranduil's thoughts. 'We ruled the Earth.' His voice was a whisper, low, rich. Full of yearning. 'Moringhotto was _nothing _without us.'

Thranduil thought of the old tales that he had heard of the First Age, although they were Noldorin of course and heard fourth or fifth hand. But he thought that Smaug spoke true.

'And now, my lord, you rule Erebor.'

'Indeed. And I have gold enough to furnish you with the army you need...' Smaug's eye flashed over him. 'Or I could blaze over your Wood...'

'I seek neither your riches nor your enmity, my lord.' Thranduil waited. Awed he was, impressed, moved even. But his beloved Wood was still threatened. And Smaug knew his power. So he let the game play out. 'I have no love for the Dwarves. My father, you know was from Doriath and we remember their betrayal. But I did not wish for their destruction either.' He paused, let Smaug think about that. 'I come to offer peace between you and my folk. I wish only to pay my homage to you.' He bowed his head and said quietly and sincerely, 'My lord Smaug, I come to pay tribute to you if you would have it.'

'Tribute?' It caught the dragon's interest as he knew it would.

'I have brought tribute if you will bind to this peace.'

'Tribute?' Smaug laughed richly then, and lifted his head and then shoulders, his pinions. 'Do you think I need more gold?' The hoard shifted around him and the mountain of gold cascaded down over his hide and Thranduil saw with astonishment and awe, that Smaug was indeed huge. He realised now that he had only seen the dragon's head, its forearm but now it moved its lithe and sinuous body and what he had thought was gold and jewels was in fact, the Dragon himself. It seemed to keep on coming, its huge wings were folded back, bat-like against its body. The long, narrow head snaked out and reared above him as the dragon emerged, full length indeed, a monster. Gold poured from him, around him. Cascaded over the Dragon's hide, spilling over the ground, like the river that was supposed to have run with gold during Thrain's time. And there! A black arrow slid down the river of gold and was jammed agains the throne in which he sat.

Almost Thranduil lost his nerve but he kept himself still, let his heart slow and his breath slow and deep; it may be my last, he told himself. Carefully he raised his eyes again to the colossal Dragon. He bowed this time. And meant it.

'Yes. One King to another. In fealty. You will never have to fear the Wood. No Elf of the Wood will fire an arrow against you. Nor lift a sword. This, I swear.'

For he had seen it.._a town ablaze. Not Dale, for it was already ruined. A Man standing tall. A Black Arrow. _

Here it was at his feet. His dream was foretelling, no dream. Slowly he drew the pouch from his breast. The soft suede against his fingers and he pulled open the drawstring and reached within. Its glow immediately lit up his face, and when he opened his hand, Thrain's Arkenstone lay upon his palm.

'I return this to its rightful place,' Thranduil said slowly, for he was buying peace for the Wood. He was showing faith. He was returning the Arkenstone to the Mountain.

Even Smaug's old eyes, gorged with treasure and jewels, widened and for a moment, Thranduil was reflected in the narrow slit of his pupil, obsidian, darkness. He moved his hand slightly so the Arkenstone broke into ten thousand sparks of bright radiance then, shot with glints of the rainbow.* It caught the reflected light of the dragon-hoard and glowed, as if the dwarvish gold recognised its heart for the glimmer of gold coins seemed to intensify and leap so both Dragon and Elven-King were caught in the brilliance of the Arkenstone.

'I would bind you to this Peace,' he said.

Smaug's eyes glittered greedily and he seemed to drink in the light. For a moment, Thranduil regretted it. For a moment he thought of the old tale of the Silmarils and wondered. But his Wood was more important and his people's lives.

'What stops me from simply killing you now and taking it for myself?' Smaug lifted his head and looked down upon the King. Who did not look up but remained motionless.

Thranduil smiled slightly. 'There would be War. You would never rest peacefully upon your fabulous treasure. And always would you fear the Wood.'

'I could burn your Wood.'

'Why would you when you can have this?' He opened his hand and let the golden glow of Dragon-fire sparkle and dance within the facets of the Arkenstone, cut the light into rainbows, capture the greedy heart of the Dragon. 'You know what this is? It is the Arkenstone of Erebor. It belongs here.'

'You would give this willingly, O King?' Smaug slithered forwards slightly and bent his great head towards the light. 'And for Peace?'

Thranduil looked at the Arkenstone for a moment and without a trace of regret, he proffered it. 'Yes,' he said. 'I would. I cannot eat stone or gold, and I cannot love it, nor it love me.'

The sigh that escaped from the Dragon's mouth was a thin trail of grey smoke. A sigh of desire. 'You bring a great gift, Thranduil Oropherion.' The Dragon was ensnared, gazing at the Arkenstone, caught in its gleam and radiance as a man would be caught in Smaug's own gaze should he dare to look into his eyes. Rapture.

Thranduil bowed his head respectfully and placed the heavy jewel between Smaug's great paws. The great claws bony-knuckled, long-fingered, talons flexed like new-forged scimitars

'It is done.' Smaug said, not moving his eyes from the Arkenstone, 'for this is worth all the the gold under the Mountain.'

Thranduil breathed. It was done indeed. Now one last thing.

He spared a brief glance that took in everything. The cavernous emptiness stretched behind and around him. The rows and rows of mail and tall spears stood in the silence and above him, the tiers and arches and terraces of the Dwarf kingdom rose until the darkness and shadows cloaked them. It was empty. A dead city. Over everything lay a fine layer of ash. And lying near his feet in a pool of gold coins and gemstones, was the black arrow.

He felt the scorch of Smaug's gaze settle briefly upon the arrow and then away, back to the Arkenstone that lay between his great paws. 'I find myself curious about your kingdom,' Smaug said conversationally, and Thranduil felt ice in his veins and he tore his attention away from the arrow and back to the Dragon, which he saw regarded him with those golden molten eyes. He felt himself falling into the obsidian space and wrenched his gaze back before it was too late. 'I have enjoyed speaking with you. So you will send me tribute every ten years. Not one of your hoary old warriors. A young are more tender. You have three sons.'

Thranduil's head whipped up. 'No.'

Smaug laughed, a deep rumble that reverberated through the air, through Thranduil's own bones and chest. 'I do not wish to eat them. But you will send someone to me as mark of faith. Every ten years.'

'I will come myself,' he said quickly. Too quickly, he thought and indeed, the Dragon's gaze raked over him.

'No,' said Smaug and his rich voice was laced with amusement. 'Much as I have enjoyed your company, King of the Wood. This is your mark of faith. If I break it, you may come after me with all your armies...But I will not.'

Thranduil's mind leapt suddenly back to the Wood. To send his children, _any_ children into this lair, this dead world to the Dragon, was too much.

'Oh come now, King of the Wood.' Smaug's voice was a breath of warmth . 'Surely you trust me as I trust you. I invite one of your warriors into my kingdom to renew our treaty and you baulk.' His voice lowered, his breath now a whisper of heat. 'Is it that you do not trust me?'

And here it was; the moment for the Peace to be sealed and no, he did not trust the Dragon.

'O Smaug, you are rightly named the Magnificent, but you are also called Smaug the Terrible for the destruction you can wreak. You would have me send my child to you?'

Smaug leaned down and caught Thranduil in his gaze. The King could do no more than look, transfixed. The eye of the Dragon was multi-facetted, iridescent, shot with a thousand lights, molten fire. He could not look away.

'You have sworn you will not raise bow or blade against me, Thranduil Oropherion. I would have the children of the Wood do the same. Send them. Every ten years. You will have your Peace.'

A nictitating membrane came up, shockingly, the wrong way from a man's, from the bottom up, and Thranduil was released from the Dragon's gaze. A thin wisp of smoke breathed from Smaug for his fires were low and merely smouldered. 'This I swear, on the Flame of Udun, on the Flame of Arnor.' The Dragon bowed its great golden head then and said, 'I swear upon the Secret Fire of Eru.'

Thranduil suddenly realised he was standing, staring up at the Dragon which was huge, and could have at the merest suggestion incinerated him, sliced him in two with the smallest of its claws, and yet it bowed to him. He bowed low himself.

'Then let it be so, my lord. Every ten years will I send some child of the Wood to bear testament to your magnificence and remind us of our Peace.' He bowed and as he did, something seemed to nudge against his foot then. Slowly, carefully, Thranduil looked down. He reached out and his fingers brushed against the Black Arrow and it seemed to leap into his hand.

'This is a strange and base thing to have in such a magnificent hoard,' he said slowly, so carefully now. 'Surely this coarse thing of no beauty has no place next to the glory that is Smaug?'

Smaug shifted and the sound of thousands, millions of gold coins pouring, sliding, clinking, but to Thranduil they sounded like chains. The Dragon's huge, reptilian head flashed close and away, lifted above him and Thranduil thought he would be blasted.

Smaug tilted his head and a slow warmth came from him that seemed to bathe Thranduil in light and he felt an unbearable loneliness, a hunger that could not be sated, and something utterly alien. Cold fire. Deep darkness. A far song. He listened...

..._Wind under great bat-like wings, soaring high, higher than cloud, higher than the Moon, above the World, seeking the Great Flame beyond the Circles of the World...and falling back, falling back into darkness..._

He thought of a moth fluttering round a candle-flame. His was not the gift of Song though and he knew he had not fully understood.

'Something fitting for an archer of the Wood.' Smaug said softly. 'You may take it if you wish. A gift for an archer. You are right. It has no value to me.'

Thranduil almost stumbled back but he kept his feet and his head. He inclined his head as graciously as he could muster and lifted the arrow. 'This token will I take to remind me of our bargain. You have the Arkenstone of Thrain. It will grieve all his descendants to know of this. I have broken any peace between the Elves of the Wood and the Dwarves of Erebor.'

'Yes,' said the Dragon sleepily. 'That may be. But you never know.'

He laid his great angular head down on one of his huge paws and sighed, deeply and settled his chest over the Arkenstone. The Heart of Smaug's Hoard now, the heart of the Mountain, thought Thranduil as he clutched the Black Arrow tightly and backed silently away.

'Ten years,' Smaug's voice followed him, echoed down the empty halls, reached up into the silent tiers and drifted through the dark arches, 'And you will send me your son.'

0o0o0


	3. Chapter 3 Girion's Heir

Disclaimer: No money. Not profit. Just a bit of fun.

For Curiouswombat. Happy Birthday!

Unbeta'd so please let me know anything.

Thank you to all those who reviewed, favourited or asked for alerts. Very nice to know how well this little side story has been received. Probably the last chapter but there may be one more.

**The Black Arrow **

Arrow!" said the bowman. "Black arrow! I have saved you to the last. You have never failed me and always I have recovered you. I had you from my father and he from of old. If ever you came from the forges of the true King under the Mountain, go now and speed well!"

It was brought from the Lonely Mountain, from the forges of the true King under the Mountain. But it was taken from Smaug's horde by someone quite unexpected.

The story of how the Black Arrow came to be in Bard's hands, and how Legolas got his tattoo.

**Chapter 3: Girion's Heir.**

Slowly, like he was in some cloying dream and could not escape, Thranduil emerged heavily, forcing himself. His limbs were too heavy and he wanted to simply lie down and sleep forever….The spell of the Dragon was heavy upon him and the further away from the Dragon he drew, the more his feet slowed. The memory of that gold, sliding, pouring, the sound of it like chains, the jewels that gleamed, scattered like stars in the firmament of Erebor….It drew him back.

_No. Not stars. Rocks, _he told himself harshly. _And you cannot drink from a river of gold. Leave now!_

He forced his feet forwards, heavily trudging until he stood, wavering, at the dark and empty mouth of the cave.

Once this had been Erebor. The greatest of all Dwarven realms since Khazad-dûm, its great doors had stood defiantly, proudly open. Above him towered a colossal stone warrior that had stood sentinel at the Gates, half of its granite face had been melted in the Dragon's fire. Now it looked like wax. On the other side of the Gates, the other warrior lay toppled and broken, the great war axe shattered into small rocks, melted smooth like glass.

Clouds gathered in the sky, heavy grey clouds that heralded a storm and the thin light was tinged with yellow. But the air was cold, clean and smelled of frost and he filled his lungs with it, cleared away the stink of sulphur like rotten eggs, and the close heat of Smaug's lair. The cold winter air curled his breath and chilled his skin.

The Dwarves had been too proud, boastful of their wealth, he thought bitterly. Thrain had declared that the River ran gold. As if _that_ were a treasure. And Smaug was the last Dragon.

Thranduil picked his way carefully over the broken stones that had once been the marble paved road to Erebor. In the strange storm light that seemed sulphurous, he looked ahead into the vale scored into the rock by the River Running, and he thought he saw a small figure running away from him. It was edged in hard, diamond-bright light. Surely no child could be out here in the Desolation? He opened his mouth to call out but could make no sound and then suddenly, he was immersed in the clash of battle, arrows swooshed, and he held in his hand a great sword that sang with him, clasped his hand as he clasped it; _petcotumo _its Song rang like a deep bell…Hot black blood spurted over his hands, over the glorious blade, and he plunged into battle..._ The Eagles are coming_ he heard a voice cry and around him the cry was taken up…The child had gone.

'_The Eagles_…' he murmured, lost in dreams of foresight and rapt. _This has yet to pass, _he distantly realised. _So that is how it will come to pass. A thief…That will raise the Dragon._ _And there will be battle._

'Thranduil! Come _on!'_

He shook himself free of the cobwebs of dream, of foretelling and slowly came back to himself. He saw Galion standing amongst the rocks, his hand lifted in agitation and beckoning wildly. He blinked slowly, letting the dream drift but snagged it with his hand and brought it back to himself, winding it around his fingers so it was safely stowed. For this was a Gift from the Weaver* and no Dragon's spell. Then he walked slowly between the bleak rocks and Galion broke from his shelter and almost lifted Thranduil off his feet in relief.

'I thought you would be lightly seared and served with potatoes by now,' Galion said grumpily but Thranduil smiled for he knew his most trusted friend was merely worried and that made him angry.

'It is done,' he said and heard the relief in his own voice.

'I should think so!' exclaimed Galion crossly. 'Gallivanting off to see a dragon for goodness' sake. Thalos I could see do that, or Legolas. But not you! What were you thinking? What was I doing letting you?' he scolded first Thranduil, then himself, then continued on to scold the captain of the guard for not stopping him, Laersul for being in the South and not controlling his father, Thalos and Legolas, who did not even know about this latest 'jaunt'….

'Jaunt?' Thranduil questioned quietly. 'Hardly a jaunt! I have just bought the word of the Dragon that he will not attack the Wood.'

'Humph,' was Galion's response and Thranduil felt a mild flutter of irritation. It was a great deed and he would get no recognition from Galion and could not tell anyone else! He felt childishly piqued and then amused at himself. No, he really could not tell anyone the whole story. The trade of the Arkenstone could never be known, but only he and Mithrandir knew of that bit of the story, and Smaug of course. And it was in none of their interests to tell a soul. He would have to be content.

'There is just one thing more,' he said hesitantly, for his heart misgave this. 'I must send someone every ten years to Smaug.'

Galion stopped dead and grabbed Thranduil by the arm. 'What?'

When he told Galion of his bargain, Galion went white and stopped altogether. 'No,' he said. 'No. You will not do this.' And he turned on his heel and stomped back up the mountain.

'Galion?' Thranduil called. 'Where are you going? Stop!'

'I'm going to tell Smaug he can't have them!' Galion threw back over his shoulder as he strode up the narrow path towards the gaping mouth of the cave.

Thranduil stared at his receding back for a moment, open-mouthed and then flung himself after Galion, hauling him around to face him. When he pulled him towards him he saw fire in his eyes and tears on his face.

'How could you?' Galion glared at him furiously. 'How could you promise him our boys?'

Thranduil did not question him about the 'our boys' for they had shared their upbringing as much as any parents and it was a long time since his beloved queen had passed. 'It is not as you think,' he protested. 'It is to renew the pledge only. Smaug is bound by his word….And I trust him to keep it.' But he had experienced the glamour now of the Dragon and knew how hard it was to leave; he repented of his promise and saw how he had been beguiled even as he stood there believing he had what he came for. But for now, he told himself, the Wood was safe. And even as he sent his sons into battle against the Shadow, he would send his sons, and the sons of others, to the Dragon.

Galion stared at him for a long moment, wrestling, Thranduil knew, with his love for him and his love for the sons of the Greenwood. 'Tell me all,' Galion said angrily.

'If you tell a single soul of this, Galion,' Thranduil said mercilessly, 'I will send you from my sight forever and banish you from the Wood. Swear upon all you hold dear that you will keep my secret safe.'

When Galion eventually met his eye and swore to him he would tell not a soul, he knew it was safe. For a while.

0o0o

They found their raft still tied to the derelict pier, straining against the rushing river. Galion pushed the raft out into the current.

In the twilight the riverbank was grey. Blackened trees stood on the edges and rushes whispered as they passed. The water was full of sludge and mud and it was a dreary and bleak place. The ruins of Dale were eerie and silent. Not even birds roosted in the broken towers, or picked in the mud at the riverbank. Thranduil remembered Dale. Towers full of bells, kites flying on the wind, a busy, cheerful place, prosperous and kindly. He had liked Girion and mourned his death. He had enquired after his kin of course, and had tried to do right by the proud widowed queen. But she would have no one's charity.

Thranduil turned away from the ruins of Dale and thrust the pole strongly against the riverbed and they rushed downstream towards Esgaroth.

They could see the distant lights of the town. It was a ramshackle and seedy place now but trade between Esgaroth and the Wood was prosperous and Thranduil valued their friendship.

A boy stood on the riverbank watching them with grey eyes and a shock of black hair. They passed silently, like ghosts and he stared and did not move. Thranduil stared for a moment, seeing more than a boy standing in the twilight.

'Wait, Galion,' he murmured softly. 'I have something I need to give him.'

Galion tutted in disapproval; now that he had his King back he simply wanted to get him back to the Wood. 'That is Girion's boy surely?' he said suddenly and with more interest.

Thranduil smiled grimly. 'Brand he is called. He escaped with his mother.'

Galion thrust his pole into the sludge and the raft bounced and pulled like a spirited horse being held back. 'You'll have to do something about the river. I can't hold the raft for long.'

Thranduil put out one long elegant hand and spoke so the river calmed and smoothed and they glided gently towards the shore. As they drew close Thranduil saw that this was not the boy he thought but a young Man, tall with the skinny limbs of youth but the lines of a warrior already there waiting to emerge. Much as Legolas, Thranduil thought. (And somewhere in the back of his mind he realised with a shock that Legolas was not the long-legged, scabby-kneed child he thought of him as. _He will always be to me,_ he told himself resolutely.)

''Brand, son of Girion, well met upon these shores!' he said as he stepped gracefully to the shore and assumed his kinglike dignity.

The boy lifted his head wide-eyed and stunned, but he raised his hand in greeting and then bowed low. 'Mae Govannen, Aranatuar, Thranduil.'

Even Galion smiled at his clumsy words but Thranduil saw it was the kindly smile that his old friend reserved for waifs and stray cats.

Thranduil inclined his head graciously. 'It is Fate that brings you here at this moment, and crosses my path with yours.' He noted without seeming to, the threadbare clothes, the hard lines of poverty that struck across the boy's face so his cheekbones showed starkly and too thin for any child. _He is not a child,_ Thranduil reminded himself. 'I bring to you a gift that is rightfully yours. In time it will return your lineage to its rightful place.' He drew out the black arrow and held it across both hands. 'This was forged by the King-under-the-Mountain himself. It is said that this alone can slay a dragon. By your blood alone one day, will the Dragon be defeated and your blood will claim Dale once more.'

Brand stared at it and for a moment, Thranduil thought he was overcome. But instead the youth turned away and hid his face in his hands. 'Forgive me, Aranatuar. My father…'

Thranduil looked away. A memory so new in his own mind that it could be happening now overtook him…

…_The copper smell of blood, the furious din of battle, ringing steel on steel that had deafened him so he could not hear the words that Elrond hurled at him. Galion dragging him away, shoving him in front so that when he stumbled, Galion was there to grab his elbow and steady him so he did not fall flat on his face before all the jeering, sneering Golodhrim. _

_His own father, Oropher, glorious, golden, indomitable, fabulous, heaving one rasping breath after another, clutching his stomach to try to stop the pain, to stop the blood that pumped between his fingers, clutching still to life._

'_I will not go!' Oropher shouted at someone nobody else could see but Oropher. 'So sod off, henchman!'_

'_He refuses Námo,' whispered Galion proudly to Thranduil, who could not see for the rain streaming down his face, blurring everything…_

'…Was the bravest Man that day,' Galion finished for Brand,without missing a beat, a step, without even glancing at Thranduil to know that he was seeing his own father's death instead of the young Man before them. 'He was a great King. A great Man.'

Galion stepped between Thranduil and Brand then and took the Man's hand and held it up. He clasped the cold fingers around the Black Arrow and gripped him for a moment so Brand looked down and took it.

'I will keep this always to the last. I will always recover it.' He looked up then and there was a brightness in his eyes that had not been there before. A pride that had stirred in his breast. He sank down on one knee and bowed before Thranduil, who shook his head and reached down, took the Man's free hand and raised him up.

'A King does not kneel to another King,' he said. 'Do not forget that.'

He turned to Galion and smiling, unpinned the gold brooch on Galion's cloak. Smiling at the unspoken outrage in his friend's eyes, he slipped it into the Man's hand. 'This I give to you for you cannot sell or eat the arrow.' He did not glance at the Man's poor clothes, the thinness of the cloth or the patches on his cloak.

'You cannot eat gold either,' Galion hissed.

'No. You can sell it to eat,' replied Thranduil urbanely and gave a provocative smile to Galion before turning back to Brand and said, 'A King is a King whether he lives in a palace or not,' he said, making the words matter, casting them like a spell so they would reach deep into Brand's blood, his bones and make him believe. 'You will not need the trappings of royalty when you need bread. You cannot eat jewels and you cannot drink from a river of gold.' He smiled very gently then so this young Man on whom so much rested, would understand and tell his children. 'This is the Black Arrow. It was forged by the King Under the Mountain. The last one. It alone can kill a dragon. Keep it safe. Its time will come.' He stepped back then and knew Galion was already on the raft, waiting. He could feel the heat from his gaze and knew he was in for a storm. But it would pass. He gave one last look at Brand. 'If ever you need me, I will come,' he said. 'Send word to the Wood. I will hear you.'

He stepped back onto the raft and calmed the river again so it was smooth and glassy and the raft held its place. Then, as he released the river, the raft spun slowly around on the current until Galion plunged his pole into the deep, cold water and pushed off. The raft glided out into the river and sped on its way while Thranduil raised his hand in farewell and watched the young Man until he faded into the dusk.

'That was very dramatic,' Galion said grumpily when they were well on their way. 'And you owe me a very nice brooch now. I had that from the Dwarves. It is worth more than that Man's whole house I should think.'

'I want him to live, Galion. Did you not see how poor he is? He must remember and tell his children. It is no good if he starves first! The Arrow is why I went there in the first place.'

'Ah.' Galion nodded sarcastically. 'And what will you tell _your_ sons when we return? You cannot keep it a secret from them now you have promised them to Smaug.'

'I have not promised them to Smaug!' Thranduil snapped. 'I have said we will renew our pledge every ten years.' But he wondered too if he had indeed made an unearthly promise… and knew it would plague him every night until the dragon's fall.

'I will wager you a bag of gold that Laersul will tell you off, Thalos will envy you and Legolas will pester you until you tell him to go,' Galion said with a furious glint in his eye that made Thranduil wary. 'The best thing is not to tell them at all and I will go.'

Thranduil looked at Galion irritably. 'That is a very good idea. You will irritate him and he might eat you and spare me your barbs for a lifetime.'

They were silent for a while and too cross with each other to do more than steer the raft upriver towards the edge of the Wood.

At last, Thranduil reached out and touched his old friend. 'Smaug will keep his word. He swore an oath not even he could break.'

Galion did not reply and if Thranduil were honest, he wondered now if Smaug had indeed cast a spell over him.

0o0o0o


	4. Chapter 4 Keeping Secrets

**Disclaimer: no money in this, no profit etc. No beta as I already work my lovely Anar into the ground with MDLW.**

Thank you to the wonderful people who review and make it worth writing; love-warmth-life, freddie23, Alanic, Isa/Ethele, kimberley kim, Melusine. And the very many more who favourited or are following now. This little fix was only supposed to be a one shot single chapter but because of you lovely people reviewing, it's encouraged me to write a bit more of it.

( A couple of peo;le have PMd me to say they are worried about reviewing please don't be-I know I was for ages when I first starting reading fanfic- rest assured that no one can trace you or knows who you are and I always respond personally to reviews if you login. It's a really nice thing to hear when people have liked you work.

**Note about characters:**

Laersul - Thranduil's oldest son

Thalos- middle son

Legolas of course you know.

Anglach - Legolas' friend. He is killed when the Orcs distract the Elves and Smeagol is freed. It is Anglach that Legolas tells Glorfindel of as he promised himself.

Silarôs - another warrior who also was guarding Smeagol although he survives.

Thranduil and Galion you will also know from The Hobbit.

**Chapter 5: Keeping Secrets**

It was late in the Autumn and only a matter of weeks since he and Galion had returned from Erebor. Thranduil was at his desk, reading Thalos' reports from the East Bite and mapping the patrols on a large map. The map was held open by a jug of wine over Rhovanion, a delicately carved bowl that had come from Menegroth holding down the Havens, and a half full wine glass holding down Minas Tirith. An unused wine glass stood over Far Harad. The other corner was held down by his left elbow as he reached across the Forest river with his right hand to stab a red mark far down in the South near to the old stronghold that was now known as Dol Guldur.

Spiders had been creeping forwards, he noticed, from the blue line of a month ago, to the red line of this month. They came closer and closer, and there were more of them. He cast his eye across the map, noting the small stars which showed where colonies had been discovered and destroyed. But although they destroyed many, it did not seem to dent the numbers of spiders. He sighed.

'The same heaviness is in my heart, my lord,' came a beloved voice from the door. He looked up in astonishment and delight to see Laersul's tall frame filling the doorway, the candle and firelight gilded him, stroked his long hair that was the same colour of gold coins as Thranduil's.

'Laersul!' he exclaimed and took two strides over to his oldest son and pulled him into a hug, leaving the maps to leap into a curling mess. He pulled down his tall son's head to kiss the top of his ear for it was many years since he had been able to reach the top of his head, and steered him to the padded and comfortable chair near the fire that he had let go out. With a word, he kindled the fire and it leapt into life. He scooped up the empty glass that had been holding down Far Harad and filled it with red wine from the jug that had left a red circle upon Rhovanion.

As he pressed the glass goblet into his son's large, capable hands he noted a dark smudge on his cheek. It is mud, he told himself and tried not to wipe it away, to check if the stain was damp. He knew Laersul, unlike Thalos or Legolas, would never present himself without having cleaned and changed so it said something about his haste to see his father that he had missed the smudge. He could not resist it however, and reached forward, wiping the smudge from his oldest son's cheek. Mud, he thought with an intensity of relief he could hardly believe possible.

'You have arrived just in time for supper,' he said smiling broadly and threw himself into the opposite chair. 'It will be rabbit pie.' He wanted to ask what had brought Laersul back from the South unannounced but he would not spoil these few precious moments first.

'Ah,' Laersul winced and drank deeply of the rich wine. 'Galion is cooking tonight?' They looked at each other and smiled ruefully for Gaeros the cook was clearly having a night off which left Galion in charge. He was famously heavy-handed with the pastry and wine alike and believed that rabbit pie was his particular speciality. It was viewed with dismay by the King and his sons alike.

'Well…' Laersul looked like he was considering a better offer, which he might well be, thought Thranduil and wondered if Laersul was courting anyone. There was a maid, Theliel, who had been flirting with him on and off for centuries but where the maid was warm, Laersul was courteous to a fault. Thranduil longed to tell his quietest son to throw caution to the wind. But he had vowed many years ago never to interfere. And Laersul would take his time, unlike Thranduil's other two more mercurial sons. He had a quality of stillness rare in a Woodelf and all who knew him trusted Laersul as they did no one else; for he never gave advice unless it was asked for, and he never gave away a secret.

'What word from the South?' Thranduil asked, trying to be calm and unruffled but worried, for his other son, Thalos, was still in the Shadowed Wood. And this visit, whilst an unexpected delight, was unexpected nevertheless and therefore might herald some great evil or tragic news. 'Is there movement from Dol Guldur?'

Laersul shook his head, smiling slightly as if he read his father's thoughts. 'No. It is surprisingly quiet. I have reports from Thalos that the East Bite is also quiet. So I took advantage of the lull to return here to find out if something I heard was true.' He raised his eyebrow and looked quizzically at his father.

Thranduil had the oddest sensation that he was about to be in trouble with his own son. He thought he knew why and steeled himself.

'I hear you and Galion have been on a trip.' Laersul continued and took a mouthful of wine although his eyes never left his father's face. 'Along the river.'

'Oh?' Thranduil was surprised at the quality of Laersul's information and the speed. It seemed that someone had talked. Galion? Or they had been seen on the river. More likely, he thought. He waved airily. 'That was weeks ago.' Thranduil raised his own goblet and drank deeply. He rolled the rich, smooth wine around his mouth before swallowing it and savoured the warmth that fired in his belly. 'Yes. It was a most pleasant trip. There is beauty in everything, even in wasteland.'

'Across the Long Lake to the other side,' Laersul continued and watched Thranduil. He reminded Thranduil uncomfortably of Oropher at that moment and it took him a moment to recover himself.

He remembered too, that like Oropher, there was never any point in avoiding the subject with Laersul. He liked to cut to the chase. Thalos would have enjoyed some conversation first, he thought, and the battle of wits. He said, 'Surely this is not what has brought you back from the South?'

'Do you think I should not be concerned that the King has been to Erebor?' Laersul said with measured calm although he smoothed his hand over his braids in the barest sign of his agitation.

He stared at Thranduil for a moment and pressed his lips together as if no more words would escape. Taking another mouthful of wine, he swallowed without tasting it and Thranduil briefly realised that he wasted good wine on all his sons for not one of them appreciated it.

'I would not put myself in danger unless there was a greater good,' he replied.

Laersul glanced up at him sharply. 'I know that you will have had good reason to do whatever it is you have done…but still, you put yourself in danger without needing to. Without telling anyone.'

Ah. That was it. He had not told Laersul, Thranduil thought. And Laersul had not been there to protect him. He smiled very gently his serious, sweet son, who had been such an earnest child with such a sense of responsibility for everyone else…A memory struck him hard.

_Legolas clinging to his big brother's tunic because Thranduil was too busy and too mired in his own grief. The child swinging on Laersul, demanding first, then whining. 'Read to me, Laersul, read me the story of Glorfindel and the Balrog.' For the millionth time. Laersul did not sigh but reached down and lifted him onto his hip when most others would have reproached the child, forgetting their bereavement. Legolas snuggled up to Laersul in front of the fire in their father's study and read to him. Never once did he reproach Legolas for his demands, nor Thranduil for his neglect. _

It was the same chair that Laersul sat in now, looking at his father expectantly.

Thranduil said, 'I did indeed go to Erebor and I went on an errand that would save the Wood from great danger. I am back. I suffered no harm. Nor did Galion.'

Laersul glanced at him obliquely, much as Thranduil himself would have done. 'And did that involve a Dragon?'

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. He held Laersul's steadfast gaze for a moment and then, because this was his son who risked his life every day in the South and whom he trusted more than anyone else alive, he told him, 'I have seen Smaug. I have spoken with him King to King. We have a treaty.'

Laersul fell back against the chair, in wonder and horror. 'You two went alone _into_ the Mountain? You negotiated with Smaug?' He smacked his hand against the chair. 'He could have…' He bit off the words, pressed his lips together and looked at Thranduil furiously. 'You could have been killed,' he said in distress.

'I left Galion outside so he would not annoy the Dragon,' Thranduil smiled tightly but Laersul did not smile. 'And I am here, alive, unharmed. So all is well,' Thranduil continued. 'And the Wood is safe from Smaug at least. I have his word.'

Laersul stared at Thranduil for what seemed an age until again, he ran a hand over his braids and looked away. He shook his head slightly in disbelief. 'Smaug is a great threat to the Wood, father. If we had Smaug attack on one side and the Shadow on the other, I do not think I could hold them both.' He was silent, seeming to struggle inwardly and then finally, he sighed in resignation. 'If you truly have his word that he will not attack the Wood, I cannot be more relieved. I confess I am still unhappy it was you that went, but glad that you have returned safely.'

'It could be no other, Laersul. I had to treat with him,' Thranduil said earnestly. He paused, remembering the magnificence, the beauty…the Song of the Dragon seeking the winds beyond the circles of the world, seeking the secret flame, spiralling ever upwards and upwards…doomed always to fail, chained to the earth. 'And I confess, I am glad I did. I am glad I saw the last great Dragon.' He spoke a little defiantly he knew, but he wanted Laersul, of all people, to understand too.

He would not speak of the Arkenstone, he had already decided, or his promise. He had nine years and he would tell Laersul when the time came. _Let him enjoy the life he has for the moment. There is enough bitterness already._ And the truth was, he hoped to find a different way.

Laersul narrowed his eyes and sat back in the comfortable chair. 'There is more, father, I see it in you. But I trust that you will tell me if you think it serves the Wood,' he said shrewdly and Thranduil half smiled in rueful pride.

'I will tell you more if it becomes necessary. But for now, my heart, trust that your father is right.'

'Very well, my lord.' Laersul inclined his head, for this was also the King. 'I do trust you. Of course…just…' He reached over and clasped Thranduil's hand and he said softly, 'I could not bear it if something happened. And Thalos and Legolas…I could not bear the grief all over again.'

'Ah, Laersul. My heart,' for so he called all his sons, 'I would not willingly put you through one heartbeat of pain…but this called for the King's word. I am sorry I have grieved you my dear, but it was for the greater good.' He squeezed Laersul's hand back. 'Now…This calls for Dorwinion I think.'

He rose to summon Galion but opening the door of his study, he found Galion already there with a wide tray. Upon the tray was a jug of new wine, and three plates and a pie dish. He tried not to grimace at Galion's cheerful, expectant face.

'I have brought you more wine,' Galion said. 'Dorwinion of course. I know you like to drink that with my rabbit pie. You must be hungry, Laersul. There's plenty here. Legolas and Anglach ate most of everything else before they went out but they insisted I keep back my rabbit pie for the King.' He beamed and let the edge of the heavy tray clatter onto the table where Thranduil's maps were curled up on themselves. 'We did not know you were coming of course, Laersul, or I am sure they would have stayed in.'

'Legolas is here too?' Laersul's blazing smile lit up his face at the thought of his youngest brother's company. 'I have not seen him for months.' He turned to Thranduil and said with pride, 'You know he made the highest tally for Orcs and Spiders this year. He has won the Arrow.'

Galion humphed and cast a sidelong glance at Thranduil. 'He is reckless beyond reason.' Carelessly, he shoved the carved bowl from Menegroth out of the way with his elbow and pushed the tray more securely onto the table. Knives and forks clattered onto the map and smudged one of Thranduil's carefully drawn lines. Thranduil sucked in a breath but Galion ignored him, tutting irritably. 'What have you done with those clips I had made for you to keep your maps in place?' He ran his hand around the edge of the ancient and delicate bowl. 'Ah here they are.' He fished out three of the four elegant silver clips and delved again for the fourth. 'Legolas said that rabbit pie was the King's favourite and when I disagreed he said you didn't like to ask for it because you are concerned that I should not overwork.' He snorted and slid the elegant silver clasps over the sides of the map and the table so the map spread out flat. The smudge had gone and the map was held perfectly in place. 'That has never stopped you from making me work too hard before, Thranduil. But Legolas was most insistent that you would want the pie for yourself. He made you sound quite greedy!' Galion said a little indignantly. He snagged Thranduil's glass and drained what was left, set it back onto the map.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and silently plotted revenge upon Legolas. He would have to eat the pie now if he did not want to hurt Galion. Which he did not. Not right now anyway, he admitted.

'Anglach is pursuing that sweet daughter of Romiscil. Legolas is his sidekick and has promised to make Anglach look good.' Galion dug a serving spoon into the hardened crust of the pastry, grunting as he did, a spoonful of gloop dropped onto a plate and he thrust it towards Laersul. 'Here…There is plenty more when you have finished that. Although Anglach says he can't help but look good anyway and that it is Legolas who needs help. They are always in my way and under my feet,' he grumbled happily and shoved a plate of greasy meat and hard pastry towards Thranduil, giving him a pleased smile.

'The daughter of Romiscil?' asked Laersul, prodding the pie nervously with his fork. 'If that is Gwileth, Silarôs has been courting her for months. They are as good as bound. Anglach will be wasting his time there though she is very pretty.' Thranduil glanced at Laersul for he rarely commented upon any maiden and Thranduil realised how very little opportunity his son had to court a girl. Thranduil resolved to change that.

'It will not matter,' Galion gossiped happily. 'Anglach enjoys being thwarted in love. He thinks it makes the maidens feel more sorry for him. It doesn't work of course. The pair of them are silly with lust and nowhere to go with it for the maidens are too sensible to do anything more than hold hands with those two.' He pulled a stool from where it was tucked neatly out of the way under the table and shoved it in front of the fire and between Thranduil and Laersul, clearly expecting to stay. 'Those two will be the death of me.'

'Nothing can kill you, Galion,' Laersul said fondly. 'Not even a Dragon I hear.'

Galion looked sharply at Thranduil and before the King could speak, he burst out bitterly, 'You have told him! You could not spare him a few more years of peace!'

Thranduil leapt to his feet, hand thrown out as if he could catch the words before they reached Laersul. 'Be still, Galion! I have not…'

Galion could not pale any further, nor look more horrified and he stared at Thranduil, stricken. But Thranduil reached down and clasped Laersul's shoulder who was looking up at him with a strange expression.

'A few more years of peace? What could you not spare me, father, and yet it seems you have?' Laersul looked up steadily. 'You said you had made a pact with the Dragon that brought us peace…I knew there was more to tell. What is this pact?'

'Forgive me,' Galion cried, unusually penitent. He reached out. 'I am a fool. I speak before I think, before I look to see what is around me. Forgive me.'

'I do not think there is anything I need to forgive _you_,' Laersul said pointedly, and then leaned back against his chair and raised his calm, steady eyes to his father's. 'I think, my lord, that _you_ had better tell me everything.'

This time there was no mistaking, Thranduil thought wryly. If it had not been so serious, he would have laughed; his oldest son was in charge and he and Galion were as naughty children on a jaunt that had ended in tears.

'Very well,' he said in resignation. 'I will tell you but this you must swear to silence. You cannot even tell Thalos.'

'Especially not Thalos,' Galion added, nodding meaningfully. 'Or to Legolas, Eru forbid! If he knew he would want to be the first to go off down to Erebor! It would be like a picnic to him.'

Thranduil raised his eyes heavenwards. 'Galion!'

'Oops. Sorry. I forget. Just tell him everything and then I can stop worrying. Well… for nine years anyway.'

'Galion! If you are going to witter on like this, go elsewhere!' Thranduil said exasperated.

'I will be silent, I swear,' said Galion, pressing a finger against his lips.

Thranduil rubbed his hand over his face and looked at him, and Galion, realising for once that discretion was the better part of valour, stood and bowed slightly. 'I will leave you to tell him,' he said in some distress. He gave Thranduil a sharp look. 'Make sure you explain everything properly though.'

Laersul smiled slightly at his father and Thranduil poured them wine from the jug. Both looked at the rabbit pie, which looked underdone and burnt at the same time and Laersul began to laugh. He could not help it. 'I do not know what was funnier. Galion blurting everything out, your face or the rabbit pie!' Then he sobered. 'However I am hungry enough to eat anything if you will.'

Thranduil carefully lifted the pastry from his plate and chucked it onto the fire the pastry. 'Not anything. I cannot stomach Galion's pastry. The meat, however, can be rescued.' He spooned up the meat from both plates onto one and left it on the hearth to cook properly. 'I will join you as penance for not telling you all in the manner in which I had hoped.'

'Let us make sure that there is plenty left for Legolas when he returns,' Laersul said with a wry smile. The rabbit was well cooked and tasted not too bad, so much so that Laersul even scooped out more filling from the pie and set it on the hearth.

'You must indeed by hungry,' said Thranduil in concern 'Let me get you something you can eat properly.'

But Laersul shook his head and spooned up the rabbit meat with some enthusiasm. 'You have become soft,' he said with a cheeky smile. 'You have forgotten what it is like in the field. Even though you camped with Galion on your journey, I'll bet you took carefully chosen provisions!' He laughed once and licked his spoon. 'If you do not eat the pastry, this is not half decent,' he said, then turned his blue-grey eyes upon Thranduil. 'Now…Will you tell me me what you agreed to?'

'Very well,' Thranduil said resigned, and he sat for a moment, looking into the fire at the shifting, burning logs. 'You know as well as anyone the destruction Smaug wreaked upon the Mountain. Imagine what he could do to a forest…' He heard Laersul take a deep breath for he too had imagined the carnage Smaug would wreak upon the Wood. 'Smaug troubled me, thoughts of him have plagued my thoughts in the years since he took Erebor,' he said. 'Like you, I knew we could not hold out against him, and with the Shadow in the south, any conspiracy between them would lead to ruin for us. Ever was it Morgoth's desire to see the Elves utterly destroyed, and both the Shadow, I am certain, and Smaug are creatures, if not servants, of Morgoth… A dream came to me. It troubled me often,' he said. 'I did not know what it meant at first until Mithrandir came and we spoke. Then it became clear that I had to go to Erebor. I had to confront the Dragon.' He did not mention the Arkenstone but stared into the fire and watched the red-glowing logs shift and settle, shapes in the hot embers that reminded him over and over of the Dragon…

'I see you were impressed.' A voice brought him out of his reverie. Laersul watched him over his half empty goblet, his grey-blue eyes steady and fearless.

'He is like nothing I have ever seen, or will again.' Thranduil said slowly. But too, he wanted his son to _see _Smaug, to share in the wonder of the beast. He looked down at his own hands and thought again how his long fingers were like claws, his skin like fine scales.

'Show me,' asked Laersul softly so Thranduil held him in his gaze and because this was Thranduil the greatest Elvenking of Middle Earth, even Gandalf said so, he opened up those memories to Laersul so that he too could see something, sense part at least of what Thranduil had seen…

…_One great claw slowly stretched, flexed and stayed spread, the great talons gleamed like scimitars amongst the shifting piles of gold coins. A necklace was caught between Smaug's talons, a lovely delicate string of mithril and emeralds. Thranduil though, barely noticed it for the power and elegance of the Dragon's claw._

_The claws had the colour and rich iridescence of pearls, and the scales of the dragon, richer than the gold on which he lay. Within each scale were swirls and patterns that seemed to echo the dragon's shape, discernible one moment and gone the next, lost in the gleam of bronze and gold, copper. In the claw alone, Thranduil found the Song, rare in its power and resonance and suddenly his heart lurched; this was one of the last of the firedrakes, the last great Dragon. He found that he was moved, not only by the power and richness of the Dragon, but by a deep compassion._

_'You are one of the last,' Thranduil said slowly. 'Your magnificence is beyond anything I have ever seen.' He found himself wishing he had seen the battles where Dragons had come roaring over the plains, fire scorching the Earth and their great wings whumping down on the wind... He did not think he could have stood his ground as did those First Age warriors - he thought he would have run._

_Smaug half-closed his eyes, as if he read Thranduil's thoughts. 'We ruled the Earth.' His voice was a whisper, low, rich. Full of yearning. 'Moringhotto was nothing without us.' _

_The hoard shifted around him and the mountain of gold cascaded down over his hide and Thranduil saw with astonishment and awe, that Smaug was indeed huge. He realised now that he had only seen the dragon's head, its forearm but now it moved its lithe and sinuous body and what he had thought was gold and jewels was in fact, the Dragon himself. It seemed to keep on coming, its huge wings were folded back, bat-like against its body. The long, narrow head snaked out and reared above him as the dragon emerged, full length indeed, a monster. Gold poured from him, around him. Cascaded over the Dragon's hide, spilling over the ground, pooling at Thranduil's feet._

_The eye of the Dragon was multi-facetted, iridescent, shot with a thousand lights, molten fire. He could not look away._

_'You have sworn you will not raise bow or blade against me, Thranduil Oropherion. I would have the children of the Wood do the same. Send them. Every ten years. You will have your Peace.'_

_A nictitating membrane came up, shockingly, the wrong way from a man's, from the bottom up, and Thranduil was released from the Dragon's gaze. A thin wisp of smoke breathed from Smaug for his fires were low and merely smouldered. 'This I swear, on the Flame of Udun, on the Flame of Arnor.' The Dragon bowed its great golden head then and said, 'I swear upon the Secret Fire of Eru.'_

_Smaug tilted his head and a slow warmth came from him that seemed to bathe Thranduil in light and he felt an unbearable loneliness, a hunger that could not be sated, and something utterly alien. Cold fire. Deep darkness. A far song. He listened..._

_...Wind under great bat-like wings, soaring high, higher than cloud, higher than the Moon, above the World, seeking the Great Flame beyond the Circles of the World...and falling back, falling back into darkness..._

_He thought of a moth fluttering round a candle-flame. His was not the gift of Song though and he knew he had not fully understood._

He released Laersul who blinked and then rubbed his eyes with one hand. He sat for a moment and his full mouth, so like his father's, smiled slightly in wonder. 'I begin to see, my lord,' he said softly.

Thranduil lifted a hand and raised the heat in the fire so the embers caught fire again and glowed. 'Smaug is indeed magnificent. Terrifying. Utterly destructive. An absolute threat. But I found myself thinking how the world would be less without him.'

Laersul did not speak but stared into the fire much as Thranduil had and the King knew his son was considering what Thranduil had shown him, He half smiled to himself; Laersul would understand. He did not fear for his oldest; when the time came, Laersul would not be beguiled by the Dragon. He was steel.

'I too wish to see a Dragon before they pass out of memory,' Laersul said. 'And better to see it than fight it,' he added wryly.

''Then you will go?' Thranduil was not sure of he were relived or terrified. 'I will go with you…' he said firmly, and then added loudly and even more firmly in the direction of the closed door, 'Galion will not…And, Galion? Do not think to dissuade me of this'

'Wouldn't dream of it my lord,' came a voice, muffled by being on the other side of the door though the owner was clearly pressed up against it. Thranduil narrowed his eyes, knowing that Galion did not mean it and hoped to change his mind. He would not.

There was sudden noise in the corridor outside and a smattering of feet, then the study door burst open and Legolas and Anglach barged into the study with Galion almost falling in after them so close he was pressed to the door. Legolas threw himself at his oldest brother, deliberately ruffling his braids so Laersul's always immaculate appearance was as dishevelled as his, for he and Anglach, Legolas explained, had returned from their sortie empty-handed and empty hearted, in Anglach's case at least.

'She would not even look at me,' Anglach whined, his brown eyes mournful. Legolas laughed unsympathetically. 'Silarôs was already there.'

'Silarôs has been courting her for months now,' Laersul said sympathetically. 'Your intelligence is very poor indeed if I knew that in the South and you did not know that in the North.'

Anglach threw a look at Legolas who shrugged and said, 'I thought she was unspoken for. She was very flirtatious with me,' he added a little smugly. 'But you are an ugly son of an Orc, Anglach, and so why should she look at you?'

Anglach turned his handsome face away and appealed to Thranduil, unafraid for he had been the closest friend of Legolas since they could walk. 'Do you not think you should send Legolas on some very dangerous mission, a long way from here until I can get myself wed! With him around, no maiden wishes to walk with me.' He cast a look then at Legolas. 'And it is NOT because you are better looking. Indeed your father has cast a spell on your looking glass to fool you into thinking rather better of yourself than you should. It is because you crunch in on your Goblin feet and make them feel awkward by telling them I am hoping to wed them, that I am desperate and love-sick! And if you have not frightened them off already with your goblin-face, saying all that will!'

'Never mind,' Laersul said to them both. 'Galion has saved his rabbit pie for you both. I know you kindly left it for us,' he said quickly before Legolas could get anything else in first, 'but neither father nor I can eat anymore and we know it is indeed your favourite too.'

Thranduil lifted his glass in triumphant salute to Laersul.

'There is plenty for all!' Galion declared happily and brandished a serving spoon at them. 'Now, who's first. Anglach? Hardly a guest but you are the closest we've got. How much do you want?'

'Anlgach loves your pie,' Laersul said serenely. And then before anyone else could interrupt, he added, 'Almost as much as Legolas and I.'

Thranduil stifled a laugh at Legolas' perplexed outrage.

'Of course,' Laersul said, rising gracefully to his feet, ' both father and I have had a good piece of it and,' he patted his flat stomach and smiled at Legolas infuriatingly, 'I am quite full. But you youngsters have such appetites. I don't expect there will be any left for supper tomorrow.'

'Oh no, there will be plenty for you too, Laersul. I have made another pie,' Galion said obliviously.

Legolas grinned at his oldest brother. 'I am sure Laersul is looking forward to it,' he said with feigned innocence.

'I am indeed,' Laersul yawned extravagantly. 'It is unfortunate that I will be dining out tomorrow and then I have to return to the South.'

'So soon?' Legolas asked, all thought of revenge vanished. 'Can you not delay even for one day so we can hunt together? Maybe father would join us?' He turned to Thranduil hopefully and Thranduil felt his heart clench again at the disappointment that was inevitable. 'I have to go on a spider hunt tomorrow and I cannot let Galadhon down. He is relying on me.'

'Maybe I will go with you. I miss the spiders. They are more fun than Orcs,' Laersul said easily and bent down to ruffle Legolas' hair so it was truly mussed as revenge for Legolas' greeting. 'Goodnight Squirt.' Legolas did not even protest at his brothers' nickname for him so pleased he was to see Laersul. Laersul turned then to Anglach and said, 'Anglach, I am pleased to hear the reports that you are doing so well on the marches,' he said as if an aside but Thranduil knew he would have thought about this before he even arrived, and would have a plan to see all the youngsters and find something in them to praise before he left. Anglach was blushing. 'It was in Galadhon's last report. You were mentioned especially.' He turned to Thranduil and leaned over to kiss the top of his father's head. 'Goodnight father.' Anglach was rising to his feet and obviously hoping to walk out with Laersul.

As Laersul turned away, Thranduil noticed that he did not stand quite as straight as he normally did, that there was a slight sag in his son's broad shoulders. He frowned and tried to remember when Laersul had last had leave and could not. He promised himself he would send someone to relieve him as soon as he could. But it was difficult to replace Laersul.

Immediately Legolas draped himself in the chair that Laersul had vacated and drained what was left of Laersul's wine. He often sat with Thranduil in the evenings when he came home. Sometimes he told Thranduil what he had been up to and sometimes he did not; it didn't matter for Galion knew all and told Thranduil sooner or later. But he was languid and quiet tonight after Anglach and Laersul had left, sitting with one long leg over the arm of the chair and one hand draped with unconscious elegance over the back of the chair. He gazed into the fire as if he too saw a Dragon curled on the embers like a bed of gold. His long hair had fallen around his shoulders and his head drooped a little. He was tired, Thranduil realised with a sudden tenderness. It seemed no time at all that Legolas would have curled up in his arms and begged for a story.

Thranduil smiled and rose to his feet, stroked a hand over his youngest son's smooth head.

'You are tired too, my heart. Go to bed.'

'Do you not want company tonight, father?' Legolas asked, yawning widely. He caught a glance from Thranduil and quickly put his hand over his mouth, smothering the yawn. 'Sorry.'

'I like your company very much, Legolas, but you need to sleep and I am wakeful yet.'

'Very well.' Legolas swung his legs back over the arm of the chair and stood up, his long, wheat-pale hair gleamed in the firelight. 'Then as long as you do not stay up all night, I will leave you. Laersul will want to kill more spiders than I tomorrow and I will not let him.' He leaned down and kissed Thranduil's cheek. 'Goodnight father. Remember to go to bed.'

'Give your brother a chance tomorrow,' Thranduil said smiling. 'And be careful, both of you.'

Thranduil heard the door close softly and rested his chin on his steepled fingers and gazed into the fire, wondering. And imagined each of his sons standing where he himself had stood, braving the Dragon, resisting its terrible lure. Laersul would be strong, do what he needed, resist for his mind was strong indeed and his sense of honour and duty was what led him. Legolas would go tomorrow if he could; impatient and ofttimes foolhardy. Too young yet. But one day, he could stand before a Dragon and withstand its lure, be amazed but walk away. Thalos though…Thalos would be as Thranduil and more; he would want to learn, to hear the Dragon speak, to listen to its stories. He would be ensnared as Thranduil had felt himself becoming ensnared. He could never send Thalos.

He had decided. Laersul would go. But not Thalos. Not Legolas, not yet. Maybe not even in twenty years time…There would have to be others. And in his father's heart, the relief of this almost took his breath.

For twenty years, he need say nothing more now that Laersul knew. And in twenty years, though it was a breath for an Elf, much in the world beyond the Wood can happen.

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One, maybe two more chapters because so many people have reviewed or are following this- it has been such a nice surprise as it was only supposed to be a one shot.

Next chapter is Thranduil. For the adult versions of all my fics, visit Archive of our Own (Ao3) or efiction. (no gaps and put www. in front -ffnet will not show up other websites I'm afraid and will not allow hyperlinks) Next chapter might be a bit more adult.


	5. Chapter 5 The Listener

For Isa, Alanic, Melusine, freddie, kohei Takano,Reima of the Kells, halavah (don't you worry about Galion- he is very thick-skinned), love-warmth-life,kimberley kim, thislittlepiggy, blackieconnors, pilvi, may arisa, harpy's quill, certh. Thank you for your reviews that kept me going on this.

unbeyad so mistakes - let me know.

Warning: implied slash but very mild references.

Chapter 6: The Listener

Thranduil himself could not forget the Dragon, and when he sat, leaning over his maps, or reports or letters, his idle hand would draw faintly at first, and then gradually a pattern emerged; abstract curls and swirling patterns at first, the gradually he added curlicues and slashes that became strong strokes of his pen, first on one side, then on the other, and then smaller strokes that evolved into pinions. Swirls became smaller and smaller until they formed a chain mail pattern over the pinions. Then came the colours. He tried vermillion, crimson, scarlet, golds, the gold of old coins and pale gold of wheat in sunlight. Shades of iridescent blue and green leaked into the scribblings at the side of his letters and on the reports from the South. Midnight black daubs smattered scraps of paper that Galion found screwed up into balls and thrown into the grate.

Galion would carefully smooth out the paper, collect the discarded daubs and scribblings into a pile and leave them where Thranduil could find them later when he went scrabbling about in the ash looking for them.

Slowly the scribblings grew and one day, Thranduil drew back and saw that he had created what he wanted. He carefully rolled up the page and tied it with string, put it away in his drawer and slept deeply, more soundly than he had since he had returned from Erebor.

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Deep in the Heart of the Wood there lived one of the Unbegotten, oldest, wisest who had awoken beside Cuiviénen and not been born. Starlight was in his eyes and his hair was silver-grey like water. He was the greatest of the scribes of yára-cármë, the stories inked on the skin of the warriors of their battles and losses. He kept the stories of the Wood. The Woodelves called him Lathron, the Listener, but his true name was forgotten and he did not care.

Thranduil left secretly at dawn with Galion, of course, trailing behind and complaining loudly that he would not be left out.

'Hush. You will wake everyone,' Thranduil turned to Galion, nodding to the guards on the doors of the Keep. 'Stay here, Galion. I walk in my own Woods,' he said and the doors opened at a thought and the guards said nothing although their eyes darted across the walkway to each other.

The last time he left in secret, they both thought, looking at the other to stop the King, he went to Erebor. Laersul had made it very clear what he thought about the King being allowed to go off alone and into danger without so much as a challenge. But it may be that Laersul indeed could challenge Thranduil, and perhaps Galion- but Galion was with him and Laersul was in the South once more. Thalos was in the East Bite and they knew that Legolas was more likely to beg to go too than try to stop him so they said nothing, merely bowed their heads slightly as he passed.

Through the misty forest he walked, silently, knowing that Galion had disobeyed and followed but he did not want to turn back so allowed it. Here the great oak trees bowed to Thranduil, dipped their leaves towards him, Lord of the Forest, Guardian of the Wood. Thranduil leapt up, caught a branch, let it pull him into the arms of the Wood where Shadow could not come while he breathed. The trees shoved their long boughs ahead, taking him deeper into the green heart of the Wood. He knew he had lost Galion, his faithful friend, never servant for Galion was too true and too irascible ever to serve, but Galion would wait for him until he returned for Galion had guessed where he went. Miles and miles into the deepness, where there were no paths but those the trees showed him. Here the forest river splashed and rushed over grey granite rocks and the deep moss clung to the stones, the boughs of the ancient trees. This was the Greenwood indeed.

It was here he had wandered with his beloved wife, conceived each of their sons so their songs were twined with the Wood and it knew them. Here the Wood was most sentient and the Song slowly wound about Thranduil, reaching down into him. He thought he heard a sonorous call, like the echo of a horn sounding down through the woods, as if Oromë still hunted as he had in the ancient times. Thranduil allowed his feet to wander where they would. Emerging into a glade where the light was green glass, he stroked the bark of huge ancient oaks whose roots reached deeply into the earth. He felt his heart slow to the rhythm of the Greenwood, felt dizzy with it. The song was deeper, like cool dark pools of green water. Absolute stillness. Absolute silence but for the deep song. Like Cuiviénen? he wondered.

No. Not like Cuiviénen. The light there was grey, twilight. And the sweet waters of the Cuiviénen is lost in the waters of Ulmo now, my dear. Starlit eyes gazed at him and he had found the Listener. He bowed his head and knelt before the oldest.

Lathron held out his hand and took the parchment and smiled when he saw what Thranduil had drawn. 'Urulóki,' he said and tilted his head to one side so his long hair, silver and grey like twilight, slid over his shoulder like water and he took the Thranduil's hand in his. With the other he slid his fingers through Thranduil's hair which was the colour of old gold coins and smiled a sweet, otherworldly smile. It is hard to endure what you ask of yourself.

I ask it only of myself.

Come then.

They drank some sweet mead that tasted of honey and peat. It enhanced the sense of otherworldliness and his head felt light enough to float away. Silently Lathron traced a strong finger over the names already inked on his strong forearms, Thranduil Oropherion, the oak leaves and green-gold runes, not tengwar but silvan, traced his finger over the yára-cármë already on his skin, telling his story, of his battles and laments.. He smiled in recognition of his own work. I remember you, child. When your father first brought you and you would not cry or bury your head in his chest. You watched.

I wanted to learn.

Lathron smiled again and in it, Thranduil thought he saw a starburst. He stared and leaned forwards, pressed against the warm lips with his own. Lathron did not pull away but nor did he return the kiss. He simply looked and smiled gently, then pushed Thranduil's hair from where it had fallen across his face. Unbind yourself. Loose yourself. Drink. Sleep.

He unbound his long hair and loosed his clothes so he stood naked and unbound by braid or kin or title. Just him. And Lathron.

This is an enchanted place.

Yes. Come then. Lay yourself down and let me look at you…Lathron's fingers traced the slashed hurt of the ballet of Dagorlad that stained him. They hovered over the clumsy scarring made by hands less skilled than his. You did this one yourself…In your anger and grief.

Thranduil did not reply but the scarring spoke for him; the furious, desperate pain. Needing the reality of it to make him strong. The anger at the cold Noldor who stood and watched the slaughter and who would not come.

Did it help the grief?

It had helped him climb out of the mire. It had helped him find anger instead of abject misery and despair. It had helped him focus upon leading his bereaved and decimated people, like Glorfindel had told him to…He blinked suddenly. He did not want to remember Glorfindel. He had not thought of him for long, long years.

Lathron watched as if he knew, the long grey eyes slid over Thranduil's skin, reading the stories, the grief, the joy of his marriage, the births of his sons, the battles and deeds.

Here it should be. Lathron touched his shoulder, traced patterns on his skin with long fingers that had known the Earth before the stars were kindled. The Urulóki that has sworn itself to you should wrap itself around you to protect you here, and above your heart where you need it most. Strong magic indeed.

An artist's strokes over his broad shoulder and over his chest, turned him and traced over his flat belly, his lean hips and without shame or pause, over his groin. A soft laugh as his heavy cock stirred and leapt under the strong hands. Lathron stroked him languidly, gently. Too eager child. Not here will I paint. He touched Thranduil's cock lightly, without shame or guilt but in kindness. Understanding. Not even your oak-heart will bear it and you need no magic there. He was strong and erect now.

I have not…I have not…since my wife…

Hush. I know. I see all, child. Be at peace.

The kiss this time was given. Warmth spread through him, but not a wild lustful warmth, it was one of peace. He wound his arms around Lathron's neck and pulled him close. Pushed the simple tunic from his shoulders and gazed in wonder at the finest art inked onto Lathron's skin; a wondrous maze of patterns and swirls and soft curlicues. He stared and in the sweet mist of the mead and the fragrance of herbs, he discerned the Listener's story…heard his Song of the Wood, more intense, deeper than anything he had ever heard. In his bones. In his blood. In the beat of his heart, the thrum of his blood.

It was not gentle nor lustful, but a purity, a sort of sweet naivety that Thranduil had known with his beloved wife the first time they lay together. A sweet exploration, followed by fierce pain that he had forgotten and then it was breathless and intense desire, pleasure, ecstasy that made the pain easier to bear.

So he did not feel the moment Lathron began to paint. The quiss that pricked into his flesh and the iridescent inks that etched Smaug forever onto his skin. In the silent hours that followed he found the Song, listened to the Greenwood, to the Listener, to his own Song.

After, he licked a trail of sweat from Lathron's throat and rested his head on the Listener's chest, listening to the steady heart that had beaten for all the long Ages of the Earth, and he told his tale and all the grief of his heart. He turned once more towards Lathron but the kindly face that looked down on him was not moved by desire but something else entirely that Thranduil had no words for and he groped about trying to express the deep love he saw in Lathron's eyes, a father's love, a lover, a warrior and bard and king.

Now you will begin to know the Greenwood. Listen.

My lord, he said humbly and Lathron smiled and touched Thranduil's chest so sore and lightly bleeding. He pressed athelas and uilios against him, wound a linen cloth lightly over the yáre-carmë.

After, Thranduil stepped softly into the Wood and slowly it melted around him and Lathron with it. He was languid and sated, letting his hand drift over the long grass and ferns. He drank from the forest river and watched small brown trout waggling their tails to keep still. A white hart watched him as he stood naked in the cold water and dunked himself beneath, emerging streaming with water. Utterly at peace.

Galion was waiting, as always and when he saw Thranduil emerge from the heart of the Wood, half naked and a newly painted Dragon draped, watching over his shoulder, his mouth fell open and he could not speak. Thranduil was glad for he had become accustomed to silence and did not wish to hear words, instead he listened to the Song in Galion's heart. Listened to the love his faithful friend had for him, how deep, unquestioning. How unfulfilled. In the softness of his own release from grief, he gently touched Galion on the cheek, kissed his lips. Galion stared at him with starstruck eyes, lips parted and flushed. He dipped his gaze then and drew his hand from Thranduil's. It was enough.

The End

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I have enjoyed this story far more than I expected and it has been a pleasant diversion from More Dangerous. I'm sorry Legolas didn't get much of a part in this but I also wanted to develop Laersul because of the sequel to Sons which is coming and readers need an emotional connection with Laersul. There could easily be more chapters to add and I might do a second one of this type- I had intended it to be Legolas but before I told that one, I felt I needed to tell this one - but I felt this chapter closed this story nicely.


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